“With all due respect,” Tom said, “we don’t have anything for a situation like this. The combination of inflation, the bonds, and the sheer scale of the problem is like nothing else we have ever faced. There is no way to stop the credit market from freezing and then crashing. It will probably be nonexistent by the end of next week. Over half of American companies require that credit to operate. Not to improve efficiency or get them through hard times or expansions, but to operate. They need it to make payroll, to order the next shipment of materials, to do all of the other functions they have to do just to keep the doors open. When that credit dies, half of American business will die within a month. There will be mass layoffs. Many companies will die off without the credit. Unemployment will skyrocket. And what do you pay your employees with even if you can stay open? Dollars that we print just to give away? Inflation would run amuck. And that’s the best case. Once all the shit hits the fan, the people will lose faith in the dollar. It’s only worth what people believe it is worth. It’s not backed by gold or land or anything real.
“Ma’am, I believe with all of my heart that we will regress to a barter society within a month.”
Tom’s passion seemed to move her. The Secretary looked to her staff. “What do we do?”
“If Tom is indeed correct,” The Deputy Secretary said, “Then we have no choice but to take drastic action, immediately. I propose that we confiscate all precious metals and draw up plans to print new money backed by those metals and government owned land. If I’m not mistaken, that’s how Germany pulled out of it in the 20’s.”
“Roosevelt also did that in the 30’s with the gold supply.” The Under Secretary for Domestic Finance said.
“Yes.” Tom stated. “But they were already dealing with a gold-backed currency. He already had a process to handle the gold, to collect it, and manipulate the money with it. We will be starting from scratch. Setting up a system to handle this abrupt of a change in monetary policy will take time. Time we do not have.”
“What do we do, Tom? What do you suggest? So far you’re throwing out problems and killing ideas. Did you come here with any solutions?” The Deputy Secretary asked.
“No, sir. I don’t have any solutions for you. Regressing the currency policy to the gold standard or a land standard may be our best option. I just don’t know how long we have before we can get the new currency out.” Tom said.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” The Secretary said. “Terry and Robert, you get to work preparing a brief for the President. We need to brief him well before the meeting with the Fed. We need to fill him in on just how bad this is and what the possible fallout might be. Tom, help them and develop some plan for going back to the gold standard. I want an executive order drafted for the President’s signature, authorizing us to confiscate gold, silver, and platinum reserves as needed to build our backing for the currency. We need estimated timelines and measurable steps to implement this.”
Ma’am,” Tom interrupted, “How frank are we planning to be with this brief?”
“Very frank.” She said. “We need supporting documentation from you as to how bad this could be. We don’t have the luxury to pull together new data and analysis for this. Go back to everything you can get from the 2008 crisis all the way back to the depression. We need legal justifications, precedents, procedures, and financial projections as to how this will work and how it will help the situation.” She saw that Tom was holding something back. “What else have you got, Tom? Spit it out. We’ve only got two and a half hours before the meeting with the Fed. I need this brief together within the hour. We need to get moving on this.”
“Ma’am, I would like to include some additional information that might be relevant to briefing the President but falls outside of our responsibilities. I have an old friend from college who is the Chief Executive Officer of a major transportation company. He and I have often had in-depth conversations about the supply chains and how the industry works.”
“Get to the point, Tom.” She said.
“Are you familiar with how the US supply chain works?” Tom asked. She made no reply. “We live in a just-in-time society. The transportation industry is vital to all aspects of business. My friend’s company is a major transporter of food products.”
“I don’t see where this is going.” The Deputy Secretary said.
Tom continued. “You see, the average American grocery store receives over ten shipments a day in order to keep the food fresh and the stored stocked. Many other industries operate on similar timelines. Some a little longer, but they all operate on this principle. As long as the supply chain is whole and working, doing business this way can improve efficiency and reduce overhead. My point is the secondary impact that a credit market collapse could have.”
He saw understanding spread over the Secretary’s face. “What will this mean, Tom?”
“If the credit market shuts down, it would be several days or weeks, maybe even longer before some of these companies get back to normal operations. With that kind of disruption in the supply chain, coupled with the rising fuel prices resulting from the recent events in the Middle East, we could be looking at severe shortages of everything from food to medical supplies and everything in between. I believe this could set off a chain reaction that would cause an exponential increase in civil unrest. I would like to mention some of these consequences in our brief to the President.” Tom finished.
“Do you have any data, documentation, studies, or any other materials to support you position?” The Under Secretary for International Affairs asked.
“No, sir.” Tom answered. “We may be able to get supporting analysis from Homeland Security or FEMA.”
“No.” The Secretary interjected. “That is not our lane, and we are not in a position to brief the President on that level of conjecture.” She saw the objection rising in Tom. She cut him off. “We will invite the heads of FEMA and Homeland Security to the briefing. If they see the same threat as Tom, they can speak up. Now, everyone get to work. You have forty-five minutes.”
As she finished and everyone stood up, there was a knock on the door and the Secretary’s admin walked in. “Ma’am, you asked me remind you when the markets were about to open.”
“Thank you.” The Secretary said as she picked up the remote on her desk and turned on the TV. Everyone stopped to watch the opening bell. The Dow started down three hundred and forty points, better than what they had all suspected.
“Maybe this will not be as bad as we think.” The Deputy Secretary said.
As if reacting to the Deputy Secretary’s words, the market lost another one hundred and twenty points. Everyone watched the markets for a few minutes as they stabilized. The Secretary broke the spell. “I want that brief on my desk in forty minutes, people.” Everyone scrambled out of the office to get to work. The Secretary and Deputy Secretary began giving instructions to the admin on how to set up the meeting with the President. He was out in California this morning. They would need to interrupt his schedule and get a secure video teleconference set up.
As they talked through the specifics of the meeting, the admin glanced up at the TV. “Oh, shit.” She said. Realizing how inappropriate her outburst was, she apologized to the Secretary. “I’m sorry, ma’am It’s just…”
The Secretary looked up at the TV. “No, it’s ok. Oh shit doesn’t even scratch the surface.” The markets had closed after only being open fifteen minutes and falling more than eleven hundred points. She looked over to her deputy. “I think we forgot something in the meeting… We need to shut down the market for Monday before we have another day like this.”
Chapter 3
Khalaf and Layth were warriors of Allah in every aspect of their lives. They held much in common. Khalf had been born and raised in Syria. Layth had come from Lebanon. Early in their lives, each of them had witnessed the abuses of Israel. While still in their teenage years, both had lost relatives in oppression by the Jewish state. The ideals of Hezboll
ah called to them ever since they had been old enough to hold a gun. They had been partners ever since they met smuggling rockets into the Gaza Strip in 2007. During that operation, Khalaf had saved Layth from being captured by the Israeli Defense Forces. After Khalaf had distracted the IDF guards at the checkpoint and allowed Layth to pass, they had formally met, at a safe house in the strip. Layth thanked Khalaf for his assistance. The two discussed why they were there, their shared hatred of Israel, the damage they would deal to the Zionists, and their common pasts. They became friends and reaffirmed their devotion to ridding the earth of the corruption of the West and the Zionist pigs that controlled them. Theirs was a bond not only of religious fervor and mutual hatred, but of friendship as well.
Their journey into paradise began in Syria as part of a Hezbollah recruiting network when they were summoned by the Imam in January 2011. The Imam was a secretive cleric who only communicated with an elite inner circle of Hezbollah and clandestine Iranian Revolutionary Guard operating in Lebanon. No one outside of the inner circle even knew The Imam’s name, but everyone knew his word was unquestionable. He was the wizard behind the curtain of the Iranian forces that funded and ultimately controlled Hezbollah. No one knew where The Imam had come from, but rumor had it that he was member of the original 1979 revolution in Iran. He had been burned in the fighting and had turned to clerical studies to fuel his recovery. All that was known was that he had earned the highest level of respect and trust of the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini and remained in the closest of Iranian power circles following the death the Khomeini.
Khalaf and Layth met with the agent of the Revolutionary Guard in a small alleyway off of a side street in Nabatieh, Lebanon. Two men placed bags over their heads and led them to a vehicle. Their captors drove for about twenty minutes and led them into a house. Once inside, the men removed their hoods. The guards led the pair to a hidden basement in the house. At the far end of the basement, one of the guards opened a panel in the wall and led them through a small tunnel to another secret room.
The Imam greeted them as they entered. “The peace of Allah upon you, brothers. I apologize for the crude methods of your delivery, but one can never be too careful. The Israeli Defense Forces would love to find this place, not to mention the joy the Mossad would take in killing me. It is better that they never even learn that I exist.”
“I have brought you here to become the holiest of Allah’s mujahedeen. You will be part of a very special assignment, one that requires extreme discipline, dedication, and perseverance. I’m sure you have questions?”
Khalaf and Layth exchanged glance and Khalaf answered. “Just one, holy imam. What would you have us do?”
“Exactly the type of dedication that Allah requires.” The Imam said, his burned face twisting into a smile. “You are part of dozens of special mujahedeen who have been sent to America.” The Imam handed them a sealed envelope. “Inside you will find travel documents bearing your pictures and false names. You will also find cash for the different places your travels will take you.
“You will travel from Lebanon to Turkey. From there you will make your way to Algeria and then to Guatemala. There are instructions in the packet for you to contact our brothers and their associates in Guatemala. They will deliver you to the package in northern Mexico and take you into America. They will instruct you on how to avoid detection in America and give you the name of our contact in Maryland.”
The Imam noticed the worried face on Layth. “You have misgivings, brother?”
“Imam, I am just concerned about avoiding detection.”
“Do not worry. Our associates have been helping hundreds of thousands people of sneak into and live in America for years. You will not be their usual cargo scum, but honored guests in their care. While their ends differ from ours, their short term goals marry to our own. We will use them for our own ends, but do not trust them. Their hearts lust only for gold and power. We strive for Allah’s holy purpose. Fear not to use them for your needs.
“Your brothers will instruct you on the package before you cross into America. You will know what to do once they have spoken.”
“How will we know when to carry out Allah’s plans?” Khalaf asked.
“When the home of the Mahdi draws blood from the Great Satan and the rains the fires of hell onto the capital of the swine, you shall know the time draws near for you to strike the head of the Great Satan. Go, now, in the everlasting peace of Allah. Go. Fulfill your tasks, and we will meet again in paradise.”
In April 2011, Khalaf and Layth reached the most dangerous part of their journey along the New Mexican border with Mexico. Their new associates in the Cartel would be guiding them across the border in just a few hours. The journey had been long and tiresome since they had landed in Guatemala.
They had been driven by car across the border into Mexico. A small bribe to the Mexican police at the border crossing ensured their passage. Once inside Mexico, their handlers directed them to stow away on freight trains to avoid unwanted attention and detection. They made their way along six different trains until they arrived at the central Mexican city of Durango. They met their contact at the predetermined rendezvous point. He picked them up in an old American made pickup truck. The journey to the compound several miles east of Les Palomas took fourteen hours. They drove through the night and arrived a few hours after dawn.
When they reached the compound, one of their brothers met them. After prayers, a light breakfast, and a short nap; their brother led them to a disused shed at the southern edge of the compound. He led them to a trap door in the center of the shed and down into the cellar. “There is Allah’s tool, bothers.” He gestured to the wooden crate in the corner of the cellar. It was about seven feet long and four foot wide. Their guide opened the top of the crate, revealing a metal coffin. Khalaf and Layth were confused. “Don’t worry, friends, this is not your coffin. This is the death of the Great Satan.”
“What is inside?” Layth asked.
Their guide opened the lid. Several metal cylinders similar to scuba tanks filled the coffin. “This, brothers, is powdered nuclear waste, americium and some other unpleasant materials. The metal coffin is just another precaution. Plus, it is a convenient transport container.
“Here” He said as he handed Khalaf an envelope. “These are instructions on how to detonate for maximum dispersion and how to make explosives out of readily available chemicals. Your contact at the Maryland mosque may also be able to provide some materials to you.”
“This will be a nuclear bomb?” Layth asked.
“No, this will be what the infidels call a ‘dirty bomb.’ It will not explode like a nuclear bomb. It will explode and spread the contents of the canisters to the four winds. These chemicals themselves are not very deadly. Their real power is the fear that the bomb will ignite in the hearts of the infidels. The Americans have a deep fear of anything radioactive. If you are smart, you will detonate upwind of your main target. The cloud will blow into the area and will drive the infidels into a frenzy of fear, destroying and disrupting everything in their path.”
“We were under the impression that we would be killing many infidels in the name of Allah, not scaring them like children.” Khalaf said.
“You must have faith, my friend. Allah has called you to be a part of the greater whole. Does the case of the bomb explode, killing the infidel? Does the explosive itself, bow up and damage anything? No, it has no focus and barely heats the air around it. Can the bomb become an instrument of Allah without the fuse to detonate it?”
Khalaf looked confused, but Layth smiled. “Your friend here is beginning to understand your part. You will be the fuse that detonates the larger bomb of Allah. You will create the chaos and panic that your brothers will use to bleed the Great Satan. You are not alone in this. I myself have guided over a dozen warriors such as you to America. I have given some of them biological agents as their tools. Others I have given chemicals. Our new partners have been most helpful in delive
ring us our tools over the last few years.
“There are others like me doing the same. I have heard it from the ones who recruited me in Iran, that this was planned by the Supreme Leader and his holy council themselves. It is not for us to question, but to obey the will of Allah and bring about the return of the Mahdi. Working together, you mujahedeen, you holiest of Allah’s warriors, will cause many times the deaths and panic than the idiots of Al Qaeda caused when they brought low the towers in New York.”
Khalaf smiled as understanding of their mission coalesced in his mind. “There is the understanding you seek, brother.” Their guide said with a smile. “Go, rest yourselves. We will leave tonight and have you on your way to Allah’s purposes by the morning.”
At nine that night, their guide escorted Khalaf and Layth to the shed. Their hosts arranged all-terrain vehicles for their trip. One of the three vehicles pulled a trailer containing their crate. As they walked up, the cartel members covered the crate in desert camouflage netting. “Why are we using these toys?” Layth asked. He learned that the US Border Patrol, while handicapped by the government, still got lucky sometimes and intercepted people making the crossing.
Their guide explained. “Usually we are able to hike across the border. It is easier to avoid detection that way. Due to your special load, we will need assistance. You will notice that these ‘toys’ are anything but. They have been fitted with special mufflers to eliminate noise. The netting our hosts are covering them with also reduces their heat signatures.” He nodded to one of the cartel members. The man put on his night vision goggles, climbed aboard the ATV, and started the engine. While only fifteen feet away, Layth could barely hear the engine. “Fear not, brother. Our friends have taken hundreds of tons of contraband into American with these very ‘toys.’” Their guide prayed with them one final time and left them to their journey.
Fifty Falling Stars Page 4
